


held together with hope and candle wax

by Lise



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Doriath, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Fëanorians are a mess, Gen, Past Relationship(s), Sad, have you heard the news another cousin's dead, tfw you fucked up all your relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beginning of the end comes with a letter from Turgon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	held together with hope and candle wax

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Icarus Wind" by Thea Gilmore if you want to listen to a sad song while you read a sad fic. This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote literal years ago called "Layers of Years and Glass" to be about four times longer and possibly sadder. I'm not linking to the old version because it's not very good. Just know that apparently I really like writing about the slow dissolution of sad elves as they realize that they really, really fucked up. 
> 
> I'm into that. 
> 
> Thanks to [ameliarating](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), my long-suffering and wonderful beta.

Like all the catastrophes in their lives, this one came without warning or ceremony, just a messenger carrying a letter into the room where Caranthir and his brothers, both elder and younger, were dining. “A message for you, my lord,” the boy said, and of course it was Curvo who turned, holding out an expectant hand. “My lord Tyelkormo,” the boy amended, then, and Celegorm turned around, mouth full and eyebrows raised. He chewed, swallowed, and then took the letter, dropping it on the table.

“Who is it from?” Curufin asked, more demand than question. Caranthir tried not to let it set his teeth on edge.

“I’ll look at it later,” Celegorm said dismissively, “No one sends me the important letters.” He gave the messenger a grin and flipped a coin in his direction. Caranthir caught the glitter of gold and made a face, but only to himself. He leaned over to examine the script.

“Is that Turukáno’s hand?” He asked, not with a little surprise. No one had heard from Turgon since he’d disappeared with a third of the Nolofinwëan host. Caranthir had privately wondered if he’d turned around and tried to go back to Valinor. He’d said as much to Maedhros, but Maedhros had just frowned at him with stern disapproval.

Celegorm lowered his half lifted glass of wine and peered more closely at the letter. “So it is,” he said, sounding surprised. “Why would Turukáno be writing to me?”

It was only then, as his older brother picked up the letter and examined the seal, that Caranthir felt the warning tingle of foreboding, but their family had always been late on the uptake. “Whatever it is,” he said, “I’m sure it can wait. We’re having a nice dinner. Let’s not allow our fussy cousin to interrupt.”

Curufin was frowning, however. “I’d like to know what he has to say,” he said, even as Caranthir tried to catch his eye and signal him to say nothing. He should have known better than to try. Curufin listened to no one, anymore, and especially not Caranthir.

Celegorm was frowning at the letter, eyebrows knitted together, and he slid his finger under the seal to break it. The wax gave way easily and Celegorm unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning back and forth. Caranthir could see that it was short, barely a few lines. It seemed to take Celegorm a long time to read it.

Finally, he folded the letter again and set it down. The look on his face was strange, and Caranthir was surprised to realize that he couldn’t read it – Celegorm had always been an open book, as transparent as Curufin was opaque. His stomach turned uneasily.

“I…” Celegorm trailed off, seeming distracted. His eyebrows knitted together and then smoothed out. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, and then stood up, chair scraping back, and strode out. Curufin’s slight frown deepened precipitously.

“Give me that,” he said, even as Caranthir picked up the letter and unfolded it again. It _was_ short, and terse.

_I write to you because you and my sister were friends once and she was fond of you. Irissë Nolofinwiel is dead._

Caranthir read the words twice, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, before handing the paper over to Curufin, who almost snatched it away. _Irissë is dead?_ It didn’t seem to make sense. When? How? He stood up, feeling oddly numb.

“Tyelko,” he realized, even as he stood, and thought of Celegorm’s abrupt exit, the strange look on his face. Curufin stiffened. “I’ll go,” Caranthir added, quickly. He didn’t think now was the best time for Curufin’s particular brand of emotional support. “Stay here,” he added, in case that wasn’t clear, voice not quite a growl. He only realized after leaving the dining room that he wasn’t sure where in Himlad Celegorm would go.

Not far, it turned out. Caranthir found his brother outside, sitting on the ground near a sapling that might have been an oak or a pine for all he could tell the difference. Huan was sitting next to him, as tall as his master at this height. The great hound’s head turned toward Caranthir as he approached, whining softly, ears drooping and dark eyes sad.

“Tyelko?” Caranthir said gingerly. Celegorm didn’t turn. Edging around in front of him and dropping to a crouch, Caranthir could see his face streaked with tears and a blotchy red. Caranthir cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded awkward and inadequate. Caranthir wondered if this was easier for the Edain, who must be born knowing how to mourn when they died so often.

Celegorm said nothing, just stared, and shuddered slightly, a very small sound slipping out of him.

Caranthir shifted, not sure what to do.

“She came here,” Celegorm said, suddenly, his voice very quiet. “To Himlad, when I was hunting with Curvo. By the time we came back she was gone, and she left no message. I have – I have always wondered what she meant to say to me, and now…” He broke off. “Maybe if I’d been here…”

“Don’t,” Caranthir said harshly. “We can’t – none of us can play that game.”

Celegorm’s fists clenched at his sides. Huan whined softly and leaned into Celegorm’s shoulder. “I thought maybe if we talked, if I explained…maybe she’d forgive me and we’d be…” His eyes squeezed closed. “I wanted to marry her. I meant to. I always meant to, but I kept telling myself there’d be time. And then everything went wrong and the last time we spoke she said she never wanted to see me again, and I never told her…”

“I’m sorry,” Caranthir said again. Celegorm looked like he wanted to flinch, curling in on himself.

Caranthir reached out, slowly, but before he could make contact Celegorm uncurled and stood up. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and took a shuddering inhale. “That is all – that is all past. We were young. I was stupid.” He dashed a hand across his face. “I shouldn’t let myself be distracted.”

“Distracted?” Caranthir asked, dropping his hand back to his side. It was strange, the way Celegorm’s face rearranged, settling into an unnerving kind of blankness.

“Yes,” Celegorm said. “From the war, and the Oath. That’s what matters, right?” Caranthir blinked, half opening his mouth, but before he could figure out the right response Celegorm reached out and clasped his arm. “Thank you, Moryo. I’ll be all right now – it was only a shock.”

“A – what?” Caranthir stared at him and held onto his brother’s arm, fingers tightening. “Tyelko, are you-”

“Fine,” Celegorm said, and smiled, but it was ghostly and odd, a muted version of the expression that belonged on his face. “I cared about her once, but that was then. Now…now there are more important things.”

He pulled away, turned and strode back inside. Caranthir stared after him, unable to shake the feeling that he’d done something wrong, or maybe just that something _was_ wrong – but then, something had been wrong ever since they’d burned the ships. Maybe it wouldn’t get worse. Maybe Celegorm really was just fine.

* * *

Celegorm and Curufin came to Thargelion without notice. They rode in on one horse, expressions grim and tight. There was no dog at their heels, and there was a ring of bruises around Curufin’s throat. Caranthir met them in his courtyard as they swung down. Curufin’s face was twisted with fury; Celegorm’s was oddly blank.

“This is an unexpected visit,” Caranthir said, a little dryly. Curufin’s jaw tightened and he stalked away. Celegorm looked for a moment like he was leaning against his horse’s neck and then straightened, turning. The look in his eyes took Caranthir by surprise: grey as ever, but oddly cold, like some fire had gone out behind them.

“We’ve been cast out of Nargothrond,” Celegorm said plainly. Caranthir almost heard Curufin hiss.

“What?” He looked back and forth between them, very nearly incredulous. “Why?”

“Findaráto is dead.” Celegorm’s inflection didn’t change at all.

“He went off on a fool quest for some mortal – to fetch a Silmaril, if you can believe it,” Curufin interjected. “Got himself killed. His people blame us.”

Something seemed wrong with that explanation, but Caranthir wasn’t certain what it was. “One of the Edain is trying to take a Silmaril?” Caranthir asked, feeling his eyebrows rise. “What gave him that harebrained idea?”

“Elwë,” Curufin said. “As a bargain for his witch-daughter, it seems.” Caranthir looked to Celegorm, but he said nothing. “We are not going to impose on your hospitality long, brother. Never fear.”

“By all means, impose as long as you want,” Caranthir said, still watching Celegorm. “You always do. Tyelko…” He trailed off, afraid to ask. “Just the two of you,” he said instead. “What happened to the nephew?”

Celegorm made an awful kind of rasping laugh in the back of his throat. It sounded all wrong, for him. “He blames us as well. Has declared that he wishes nothing to do with Curvo or me.” He looked at Caranthir directly, then, and smiled crookedly. “Are you sure you’re not planning to do the same? I’d just like to know ahead of time.”

Curufin turned around and paced back over to Celegorm’s side as though he were going to reach out, but he didn’t. There was a distance between them that was new, Caranthir thought. A cautious kind of tension.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caranthir said flatly. “You’re my brothers. I don’t turn my back on my brothers.” It might have been a little pointed in Curufin’s direction, but if his younger brother noticed he didn’t say anything about it. He did pause, however, and add, “Findaráto’s dead?”

He’d never been close to that cousin – the opposite, really – but it still felt odd to hear. Another one of them gone. Sometimes it felt like he was keeping a running tally. There weren’t really all that many of them left. Caranthir supposed that when the Valar said you were doomed, they meant it.

“Yes,” Curufin said, tone nearly dripping with bitterness. “Killed by Sauron’s wolves.”

Caranthir gave in and asked the other question hanging in the air, gesturing at Curufin’s neck. “And who tried to strangle you? Not Tyelko, I assume.”

The tic in Curufin’s jaw spasmed violently. “No. The mortal.” Caranthir looked at Celegorm again, expecting something, some kind of response, but again there was nothing. His older brother was staring back the way they’d come. “If the interrogation is over,” Curufin said tartly, “I would like a wash, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead,” Caranthir said, carelessly. “Unless you’re asking me to do it for you.”

Curufin gave him a look of utter disgust and paced off. “Tyelko, come,” he said, in much the same tone Caranthir had heard kennel masters tell a dog to heel. To his faint surprise, Celegorm didn’t go padding after him. Curufin seemed to realize this belatedly, paused for a moment, and then continued, something almost like hurt flashing over his face.

Caranthir drummed his fingers on his leg and walked over to stand beside Celegorm. His brother’s fingers were wrapped around his sword hilt so tightly his knuckles were white, but his expression was still that odd, blank smoothness.

“What really happened?” Caranthir asked, not quite sure he wanted to know.

Celegorm’s mouth twitched. “We killed our cousin, that’s what happened.” There wasn’t any remorse in his voice, the words brutal and sharp. Caranthir shifted.

“Curvo said Sauron killed Findaráto.”

“We sent him there. Almost alone.” Celegorm’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “It doesn’t matter. He knew what would happen, I think.” Celegorm’s thin smile was twisted, a far cry from the grin Caranthir could still remember. “We all do, don’t we?”

There was a cold, sick feeling in Caranthir’s gut. “I don’t think anyone’s told me.” Celegorm didn’t elaborate, though, and after a long moment Caranthir cleared his throat and dared to ask. “Where’s Huan?”

“Gone,” Celegorm said, after a long moment, too lightly, and said nothing further.

* * *

“Are you worried about Tyelkormo?” Caranthir asked Curufin, keeping a wary eye on the door though he doubted Celegorm would appear. Curufin gave him an irritated look and shook his head, lips a thin line.

“Worried? No. Why?”

“He doesn’t seem…” Caranthir made a vague gesture with one hand. “—off, to you?”

Curufin set his pen down and gave Caranthir the same look he’d been giving him since they were children: as though Caranthir was very stupid and unnecessarily bothersome. “What do you want of me, Moryo? Do you want me to fret at him like a mother hen? Tyelkormo can mind himself.”

“Used to seem like you didn’t think so,” Caranthir said, letting his eyebrows tick up. “Anyway, it’s not about minding himself. It’s just – is he ever happy anymore?”

“Do you think I know how to fix that?” Curufin breathed out sharply through his nose. “It is that stupid _beast._ Ever since it betrayed us he’s just been brooding. I tried to tell him it was only a dog and he can find another at any kennel – perhaps one _not_ tainted by the touch of the Valar this time-”

“You have the emotional sensitivity of an orc,” Caranthir said. Curufin picked up his pen.

“And you have all the intelligence of one. Leave me alone, Morifinwë, and do your worrying elsewhere.” 

Caranthir left Curufin there and went looking for his other brother. He found him outside the kennels, wrapping his bleeding hand. Caranthir recognized the pattern of canine bite marks. He stopped, and Celegorm looked up, something almost guilty on his face before it vanished.

“Did you get _bitten?_ ” Caranthir asked, before he could think better of it. For as long as he could remember, Celegorm had had a way with animals, and not just domesticated ones – but especially dogs. They flocked to him. Strays turned up around their home and lolloped around Celegorm’s legs, eager to please, from the proudest hunting dog down to the ragged mutts that cropped up in Beleriand. They loved him. Of course Huan had always been the One True Dog, but just the same…

“Just a little,” Celegorm said casually, but the way he glanced aside belied it. “Barely a nip, really.”

“Is it a nip if it draws blood?” Caranthir asked.

“Sure it is,” Celegorm said. “It was probably just an accident. I moved too fast trying to touch her puppies. It’s a – a perfectly natural reaction.” Celegorm smiled, but it looked thin and strained. “Nothing to make a fuss about.”

“Tyelko,” Caranthir said, and sighed. He sat down on a bale of hay. “Is something…”

“No,” Celegorm interrupted. “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”

“You’ve always been a shit liar, Tyelko,” Caranthir said, and if he meant it to be playful, or maybe harsh, it came out gentle. Celegorm swallowed, for a moment his mask quivering, but then it was back in place and stronger than ever. He shrugged.

“Just looking for a new dog,” he said, as though it were that simple. “It gets boring hunting alone.”

Caranthir looked at his brother and felt suddenly immensely tired. He dropped his face into his hands and rubbed his eyes. “Tyelko,” He said again, but he didn’t know how to finish it that time, either. “Am I allowed to say I’m worried about you?”

“You’re allowed to say anything you want.” When had that strangely bland tone become Celegorm’s voice? Overly expressive, always emotional Celegorm. “Though I’m not sure why you’d be worried.”

“Why I’d be-” Caranthir blew out a breath. “I know you’re not that dense, Tyelko. Pretend all you want but I know it’s pretending. You…lost a friend.”

“Lost?” A note that wasn’t bland tonelessness entered into Celegorm’s voice, but it wasn’t reassuring – a bitter, nasty kind of anger. “I didn’t _lose_ him. He _left_ me. You can’t say I _lost_ him like it just _happened._ He chose. He chose and it wasn’t me.”

Caranthir wanted to wince. “Poor choice of words.”

“Everything’s _wrong_ now,” Celegorm said, the bitterness intensifying. “Everything’s so – it was supposed to be simple. But Telvo is dead, Irissë’s dead, Angamaitë is dead, Findaráto is dead and Huan is gone, and what has it been worth? What has _any_ of this been worth?” His voice rose as Celegorm started to pace. “Did he care, Moryo? Our father, I mean. Did he care what would happen to us, to any of us? Sometimes – sometimes I think we didn’t matter at all, that we were just tools to be used!”

Caranthir hesitated, startled at the echo of his own thoughts that he’d had sometimes, ever since they’d burned the ships and in the morning realized there was one too few of them on the shore. “I know,” he said, voice rough.

“But it’s all that matters,” Celegorm said, and his eyes turned on Caranthir. The dullness had shifted, giving way to a feverish shine, too bright and full of desperation. “It’s all that’s left. Everything else is gone, and if that’s gone too…what has it all been for?”

Caranthir couldn’t say the answer hovering on his tongue, in his heart. _Nothing. It’s all for nothing._ “Defeating the Enemy,” he said instead, almost croaked. “That’s our purpose.”

“We can’t,” Celegorm said, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a fraction. “Not alone. And that’s what we are, now.” The feverish light in his brother’s eyes went out. “Do you know, sometimes I wonder if…” Celegorm trailed off and looked down at his bandaged hand.

Caranthir stood up and took a half step in his direction. Celegorm shook his head.

“They don’t listen to me anymore,” he said, gesturing toward the kennels. “It’s like I’m a sick animal and they can smell it on me. I don’t understand how all this happened.”

“I guess we just…have to keep moving,” Caranthir said. Something about the way Celegorm looked at him then made his stomach drop.

“Keep moving,” Celegorm repeated. “Yes. That’s all there is to do, isn’t it?” He smiled, lopsided and thin and tired, and it didn’t touch his eyes. His hand squeezed Caranthir’s shoulder and then fell away. “Thank you, brother. For the reminder.”

_Of what?_ Caranthir wanted to ask, but Celegorm was already walking away.

* * *

Dior, the _fool,_ had a Silmaril. He’d inherited it from his mother, Elwë’s daughter, and apparently wore it around his neck in a splendid necklace. Or maybe a beacon, _hello, sons of Fëanor, please come kill me._ Maglor sent a politely worded letter asking him to return the Silmaril as it was originally their father’s, and two thefts did not make a right of ownership.

Dior didn’t respond.

Perhaps if Maedhros were not still grieving for Fingon’s death, he might have managed to keep Curufin at bay longer. Perhaps if Maglor were not – well, Maglor – he might have pushed for more diplomacy. As it was, when they met, Maedhros spoke little, and Amrod argued for it with nearly unnerving enthusiasm, which left Caranthir and Maglor as the only two suing for peace, with Celegorm sitting in silence, unusually still.

“Just because the Maia is gone back to Valinor does not mean Doriath’s people are defenseless,” Caranthir tried. “And I don’t much like the idea of fighting in a forest. I say we wait. We need to focus on the real threat – the one in the north. I like this Sindar upstart as little as the rest of you, but he’s just that – an upstart.”

Curufin accused him of cowardice and disloyalty and worse, though always only obliquely. “We have an obligation,” he said, voice fierce and quiet. “To our father and his memory, and to _ourselves._ Will you let this insult stand?”

“If we send another message,” Maglor began, but Celegorm stirred, suddenly, and spoke.

“No,” he said, and his voice was low and cold. “No. No more messages. No more diplomacy. I have one thing for Elwë’s get.” He stood, true to his name, and drew his sword in one smooth motion and set it on the table across the papers and maps. “To deny us is to accept the consequences. Dior must know this. He is no Elwë Singollo – when has he earned our respect? Our deference? When has he done anything for us that would give us cause to stay our hands?” Celegorm’s chin rose, and his eyes blazed with cold, strange fire, so unlike the hot and quick temper Caranthir remembered from days past. “The Enemy will remain. It is time we took back what is ours. Too long we have let these Sindar toy with our father’s Silmaril when they have no right to it. Are we to continue to allow it? I, for one, will not.”

Three to two, and Caranthir heard himself agree even as, strangely, he thought of _it’s all that’s left_ and a feverish gleam in his brother’s eyes. He looked thin, Caranthir realized, almost gaunt, like something in him was burning too fast and consuming his body.

Was there something he should have said? Or done, maybe?

He caught up to Celegorm after they’d dispersed, grabbing his sleeve. “Are you sure this is wise?” he asked. Celegorm smiled at him, and laughed, but that sounded strange too.

“When have you ever been one for wise, Carnistir?” Celegorm asked. “Particularly when it came to battles?”

“Maybe I’m changing,” he said, a little dryly. “I’m just wondering if you’ve thought this through. Any way this goes, a lot of warriors are going to die.”

“Mostly theirs,” Celegorm said, and his smile was sharp and cruel. “They should not have refused. What is your point, brother?”

Caranthir opened his mouth, and then thought of the look in Celegorm’s eyes in the kennels, the wild near despair. _It’s all that’s left._ Maybe this was all Celegorm was holding onto, and if he took that away…

“Never mind,” he said, forcing his face into a smile. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” said Celegorm, and it sounded so much like the brother Caranthir remembered that he relaxed and let Celegorm tousle his hair. “I’m your older brother, remember?”

It wasn’t until after he’d gone that Caranthir realized what seemed odd about the whole interaction. It was like Celegorm was playacting, he thought. Playing a part he knew well, but one that didn’t quite fit. Like a mask.

After, Caranthir told himself as they rode south and west. After, he’d talk with Celegorm. Get him drunk, maybe. Remind him that whatever else they lost, they still had each other. Brothers until the end. That was what mattered.

* * *

The blood ran thick and fast over Caranthir’s hands, staining his nails and trickling between his knuckles. Already his brother’s skin was white as stars under the dirt and blood, his lips pale. The upstart Dior Eluchil lay a few feet away, crumpled with Celegorm’s blade through his chest, but Caranthir could not have cared less, not when Celegorm’s stomach was open to the spine. His eyelids fluttered, chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths.

“Tyelko,” Caranthir said, words spilling from his lips. “Tyelko, stay with me.”

His brother did not answer, and Caranthir freed one of his hands just enough to raise it and slap him, hard enough to turn his head to the side. Celegorm’s eyes opened, just a fraction.

“Moryo,” he said, voice slurring, and there was no point, no point in trying but Caranthir couldn’t just _stop._ “Little brother. I’m so tired.”

Caranthir pressed down harder like it would matter, but Celegorm didn’t even twitch with the pain it must have caused. _Please,_ he thought desperately, knowing no one was listening. “I know,” he said. “I know, but there’s so much still to do. You can’t rest just yet.”

“No,” Celegorm said, and his lips curved, very slightly. “There’s nothing else I can do. Moryo. There’s never been anything else we can do.” One of his hands, shaking, came to rest on top of Caranthir’s. “I realized – I realized that. A long time ago.”

Caranthir’s breath snagged in his throat. He could hear shouting and knew he should stand up and reach for his weapons, but he couldn’t-

“All this,” Celegorm said, and then sucked in a breath. “—all of this – all it is – is a long dying. We should have known. We should have-” He broke off, panting, and Caranthir wanted to scream. “This isn’t so bad. At least…at least now it’s…over.”

“No,” Caranthir said, hoarsely, ferocious, pointless denial. “It’s not over, it’s not-”

The light went out of Celegorm’s still open eyes, staring dully at nothing.

A long dying. _This is all that’s left,_ Celegorm had said, and Caranthir had thought he meant the Oath, but now he wondered.

An elf appeared in the doorway in Sindarin armor, then another. Caranthir pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his blade.

_One thing left to do,_ he thought, and wanted to laugh at how little any of it mattered.


End file.
